Trouble Sleeping
by HoloDragon
Summary: John is suffering from nightmares. They're a mix between war and Sherlock. After months of torture and constantly checking to make sure he's okay, Sherlock takes matters into his own hands and attempts to get to the bottom of it. This is extremely fluffy and a total Johnlock. If you don't like it don't read it. Takes place after Mary has died.


**Here is my next one shot! Even though I thought this would be a quick easy story to do, it took me about a week to finally finish it. So without further ado, please enjoy! :)**

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It's been an entire year and four months since Mary had passed. John was no longer feeling sore about the whole deal. What had happened, happened and he didn't want to let it consume him. He didn't want a repeat of Sherlock's death. Sherlock did his best to comfort him, while it wasn't always nice, it was the only way he knew. John would grimace and thank him anyways. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew Sherlock was doing his very best to let John know he wasn't alone. The feelings from so long ago, before he had met Mary, were now coming to a head once again. Sherlock looked more lovely with each passing day to be honest. The stupid thing that John can't wrap his mind around, is the nightmares. They're not about Mary. Instead, John is plagued with dreams of war and losing Sherlock all over again. He admits that when the two mix, he feels he will never sleep again.

On those instances, when the two lives of John Hamish Watson smash together in a revolting outcome, John would slink down the stairs of 221B to check on his flatmate. Sometimes, due to Sherlock's sleeping habits, John could just look for light and wait for the small noise of Sherlock working from the dark of the stairwell. Only on rare occasions would John lightly peek into Sherlock's room just to see if the stretched chest would rise and fall. His ears would adjust to the younger man's light snoring and only then did John return to his own room. It depended really on the time of night and how relaxed he actually felt.

Relaxation did not come a lot of nights, even after checking on the dark haired man. John would stare at the ceiling for hours in the dark or rising sun, waiting. His heart would long to hold Sherlock, or for Sherlock to hold him until he would drift back to sleep. The more his conscious wondered what a bed with Sherlock in it would feel like, the more his heart would ache. John was almost sure that the consulting detective did not feel the same. It had shocked him at first, when he had that fling with Janine, he was jealous for all of two seconds. The relief that entered his body when he learned it was all for a case was unexplainable and uncalled for coming from a married man.

In all honesty, John had never ceased loving Sherlock in a way that was more than

friends. It's kind of hard to just drop the girl you asked to marry you, for your best friend who rose from the dead and suddenly appeared as a french waiter with an eyeliner mustache. Especially after you practically broke said friend's nose and attempted to kill him. That was John's way of dealing with his feelings. Damn you Sherlock, you fucking idiot, I love you and now you have the worst of timing, as always, you idiot beautiful git. Two years of anger and angst of unsaid love. The unspeakable. He'd mouthed the words to a headstone. A headstone that meant nothing because there was no one under it.

In the past two months, the dreams had only been getting worse. It started with a dream every once a week, then it was every few days, then it was every other day, and now, much to the mental stress of John, it was every night he could even find sleep. Sherlock hadn't noticed, or if he did, he didn't say anything.

One night late night turned early morning, Sherlock was working on a bacteria experiment in the kitchen while John sat watching telly in the main room. Instead of in his comfy chair, the doctor lay across the unoccupied couch unaware of what time it really was. He had been completely content until Sherlock had noticed something. "John?"

The man startled, he hadn't expected the man to speak for at least another hour. "Yes, Sherlock?"

With disheveled hair and a goggle red mark around his eyes, Sherlock had turned in his chair to look at John. Said man had sat straight up on the couch and gave a distressed whine as his back protested. Sherlock glanced at the time on his phone, "John, it is two fifty seven in the morning." Light brown eyes blinked in confusion and misunderstanding. With a heavy sigh Sherlock tried again, "John, the time is two hundred fifty seven hours. Oh two five seven."

The sigh that escaped John was far more than exhausted. "Sherlock, what are you actually trying to say?"

It took a moment but he finally spoke in the most gentle tone John had ever heard, "It's late, you have work in the morning, why aren't you in bed?"

John thudded against the back of the couch, his mind was confused. How had Sherlock spoken so softly and so gently? Was he capable of caring? Of course he was, that was why he did all of the crazy things he did sometimes. John blamed himself for reading into it too much so he quickly replied, "Is it really that time? I hadn't realized."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as if he could point out the fact that John wasn't sleeping. A prayer on John's part might have actually deterred the detective away from his true feelings. "Best be off then, you have adult things to do and I know how cranky you are when you have less than five hours of sleep." Dismissively Sherlock turned around in his chair and gave a short, "Goodnight John."

Slowly the older man rose to his feet and straightened his jumper before looking at Sherlock's back. A sad pain shot through his chest, burning his heart a little as it passed, "Goodnight Sherlock."

The man did not even acknowledge John as he slinked to his bedroom. Even though Sherlock had told him to go to bed, which was weird, John was fully aware that he would not sleep tonight. Last night's dream had seriously disturbed him. He was so shaken by the night terror that today, he had spent the entire day practically glued to the presence of Sherlock. If the tall man was somewhere, John was almost right behind him. Well, besides when he went to the bathroom, that would be pushing the limit. At this point, he was pretty sure he could care less if Sherlock knew. If it made these fucking horrible dreams leave or at least quit for a few days, it'd be worth it.

Little did John now as he sat in bed, Sherlock was devising his own plot. Did John really think he was stupid? Following him around like a little puppy dog not only irritated Sherlock just a little, it sort of hurt his feelings. Why would he follow him around and pretend that nothing was wrong? John must be testing his "human" side. Was he supposed to deduct that John was bothered by something? Was he supposed to comment on how for the past month or so that John's been peeking into his room if he's sleeping, or checking on the stairwell or something? He was working on the John case in his spare time, what more could he want?

Sherlock's light colored eyes narrowed as he sat at the table thinking. Was it a ploy to keep him from getting bored? After the last incident of boredom, it wasn't really Sherlock's fault the idiot left his so called favorite ugly sweater lying about and he so happened to light it on fire. John didn't even care that Sherlock had burned his hand trying to save the flat. Well he did, after he calmed down, but dammit his hand should have come first. Who cares about an ugly sweater that your sister bought for you? Shaking his head he went back to the matter at hand.

John is bothered by something, judging from the dark circles under his eyes and his continous yawning, he hasn't been sleeping well. What has that got to do with Sherlock? He's been so wrapped up in what he's been doing that he's forgot to listen for the shower starting at odd hours of the night. It could be nightmares/night terrors again, that or it could be insomnia because John hasn't written anything for awhile. The doctor once said that if he didn't write anymore, he'd have trouble sleeping. Better out than in. Uncle What's-His-Face used to say that, Sherlock thought it inappropriate because it was a joke about flatulence. Shaking his head, he ran his fingers through his curls, "Dammit focus."

John's not sleeping, why is he not sleeping? Night terrors, insomnia, any other possibilities? Sherlock's eyes closed as he leaned back against the chair, his mind palace doors opened and he carefully paced the corridors and hallways. Each door was labeled carefully and some even said "Do Not Enter" The detective shook his head as he walked past Irene Adler's door. Not important, was written in spray paint across the expensive wood. John had his own section. A door for his quirks, his eating habits, his family, and even his dating section. That door also had "Unimportant" written across it, Sherlock went ahead and added a repulsed face while he was at it. He always felt peaceful in his area, John was by far the most important and he thought about remodeling it to look like their flat they shared. Not now stay focused.

"Sleeping Habits, here we are." His dress shoes clacked against the lovely white tiles as he walked into the room. A replica of John's chair sat in the room surrounded by filing cabinets. He didn't have a lot of information on John's slumber. Just the normal procedure of what he does after a nightmare. First he paces for a moment, gazes out the window, then he drinks a glass of water, and takes a cool shower. That was if John was in the living room. Sherlock took a moment to process that. If the doctor only did those things when he fell asleep on the couch, that left what he did when it was his own room up for investigation. Tossing that piece back into the cabinet, Sherlock picked up the next folder. There was a great sigh as he flopped into John's chair and shifted through it. All John had said was, "War, Afghan, The Fall." It was probably safe to say that some of those are Mary. Sherlock pulls his knees to his chest as he thinks about that. It shouldn't hurt his feelings. John was allowed to mourn his wife and it shouldn't hurt Sherlock's puny feelings.

Suddenly Sherlock didn't want to be alone in his mind palace. The stupid ache of being alone, which had only started after he was separated from John, was now creeping into his chest. It was almost like he was being shot all over again. With a few blinks, Sherlock is back in the light of the kitchen. His experiment is almost forgotten now, so he places it back in it's place. John will not be happy that he set it next to the chopped fingers, something about it's already disgusting enough don't let fungus grow on them as well. Sherlock moves those slightly away hoping that will appease him. With clunky movements, due to his sitting too long, the dark haired man walked to his violin. It took only a moment for him to register that John would be angry if he played this time of night.

The chances of an ass ripping were higher if John hadn't been sleeping as well. As much as Sherlock hated to admit it, he didn't like pissing John off, but sometimes he couldn't help it. He'd apologized to his best friend more times than he'd apologized to anyone else. That wasn't for nothing. Sherlock loved John in only the purest and the most complicated of ways. For the detective, that made everything more complicated than it should have been in the first place. For him, it was not a simple platonic relationship, no, for him it was so much more.

Sherlock places his violin back in it's place and retreats to his room. He needs information before thinking of his love for John drives him insane. It takes Sherlock a record time to change and walk up the stairs quietly. He's not expecting to see John sitting up in bed, wide awake. Sherlock feels a little uncomfortable as he realizes he's spying on John and John could very well catch him.

The doctor isn't the type to pull his knees to his chest and contemplate while staring at a wall. Instead, he sits against his headboard, arms across his chest, gazing out the window. Sherlock can only see through a small crack in the door as John sighs and smiles at a picture on the wall. The younger man can't see what the picture is, but he wants to know. Curiosity killed the Sherlock. He stumbled into the door as he sneaked forward and effectively got himself caught. "Sherlock?" John's confused voice drifted to the poor shocked man. He stiffened and stood up straight again after his attempt to catch said door. "What are you doing?"

The older man didn't look upset, he looked tired and curious, but most importantly he looked patient. "Uh... " Brilliant, you're a genius Sherlock he thought to himself, "I was just-"

John holds up his hand, "Stop standing in the doorway like an idiot and don't lie."

Sherlock sighs before stepping into John's room. He's usually not allowed in here very

often so he's a bit hesitant. His bare fit patter against the hardwood floor until he stands at the foot of John's bed. "You haven't been sleeping well." A blonde eyebrow raises as Sherlock speaks, "I was in my mind palace and I couldn't come up with a logical reason. If you have a nightmare when you fall asleep on the couch you go through a process. Pace, gaze out a window, a glass of water, and then you'll go take a cool shower. That's only if you fell asleep in the living room. It occurred to me that I've no idea what you do if you happen to have one while in the safety of your own bedroom."

"So, you came to spy on me?" John sighs heavily and then chuckles.

Sherlock looks at him confused. "No, I came to observe you. I need to figure out why you aren't sleeping."

The face John makes confuses the poor detective worse. It's a mix between confused, happy, and amused. "You need to figure out why I haven't been sleeping well."

A small tint of a blush crept up Sherlock's face, "Uh. Well, you've been irritable and following me around. Something has to be bothering you and there's a chance of new information."

John rolls his eyes and pats the bed beside him. Sherlock carefully slinks in beside him and pulls his knees to his chest. "So, what was your plan?"

"Plan?"

The long sigh that comes from John is a cue that his patience is starting to wear thin. "Yes Sherlock, you must have had a plan."

Said man's head rests on his knees and he shrugs lightly, "Well, I was planning on watching you while you were asleep, waiting until you had a nightmare, and waiting for what you were going to do next."

"You changed into your sleepwear."

"I could have used it if you caught me. John, you were screaming in your sleep and I'm trying to sleep." Sherlock was a little dismayed at his own weak attempt of a cover up. He'd stormed out here with no plan.

John leans his head against the wall, "You don't have a clue what you're doing."

Sherlock smiles anyways, then he starts to chuckle, "No idea."

It doesn't seem to be that funny, but they're both tired, so they both start laughing a little crazily as sleep deprivation has drove them. After a moment the comfortable room becomes silence. The doctor turns his head to look at Sherlock, he only meets eyes as Sherlock is already looking at him. "What?"

A blush passes quickly over his face, "You… I mean… Why… Why aren't you sleeping?" Now it's John's turn to blush, how can he explain this one without seeming like an idiot? "I mean… Nightmares. War, The Fall, most likely Mary."

When Sherlock's eyes meet John's once again, he notices for the first time, dilation. Why would John's eyes dilate while looking at… Oh. Sherlock's mouth twists into a small smile as he's starting to understand. The doctor shifts so he's sitting a little closer to Sherlock, "I've a secret to tell you."

John noticed the shift, he knows that his body has betrayed him. Sherlock has a ghost of a smile on his face that says it all. The doctor notices for the first time that Sherlock's eyes have done the same as his have most likely done. They both swallow as the tension in the room starts to feel heavy. "A secret?" Sherlock's smile is gone as John scoots even closer.

He rests his right arm on Sherlock's shoulder and leans into his ear, "I haven't had a single nightmare about Mary."

Sherlock's eyebrows come together, "I don't understand."

John smiles and whispers so lightly that Sherlock has to strain to hear it. "As twisted as it seems, you're more important."

It takes the detective a long minute to decipher that simple sentence. "More important?"

An annoyed scoff is the only noise that John can hear, he's said the words so softly he's

not sure if he's even said them. "It means I love you, you idiot."

Sherlock's face was hilarious. It's hardly ever anyone gets to see his shocked face, it was hard to shock Sherlock Holmes. The doctor chuckled as his face morphed and then he lightly pressed a kiss to his cheek to further his point. "Love? As in… Love."

It wasn't the first time John had said those words to him, was it? Sherlock was sure he'd heard it in the "friend" way. Most likely it was, "I love Mary, and you a little bit." So that would have completely missed the margin. John chuckles and then pulls away so he can look at Sherlock properly.

The light colored eyes are lost and confused, "Sherlock?" There is no reply, "Sherlock?" John sighs, "I have stunned the great Sherlock Holmes." He sighs and leans back against the headboard. "Guess I could sleep while he's here." His eyes close and for the first time he feels relaxed. Even if Sherlock doesn't quite understand what it was he just told him, it's off John's mind for the moment and he thinks he can sleep.

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"JOHN!"

The doctor gasps and grabs Sherlock's forearms as the man keeps shaking him. "What?" John sits up straight against the headboard and feels his sore neck, "What is it?"

Before John can even register what's happening, it's like Sherlock wasn't even there. The detective had slunked away and left a ghost touch on John's lips. He stands up to quickly and makes himself dizzy but makes it to the doorway. "Sherlock!" Once recovered he stumbles down the stairs back into the main apartment. "You git!"

Sherlock is curled up on the sofa watching T.V. already, "What?"

John is standing in the doorway with his mouth hanging open. How could he possibly

just go back to watching telly so nonchalantly? "Sherlock, how could… I mean… You can't just…"

The detective sits up and looks more like a small child, "John."

"No, shut up!" John snaps with tears in his eyes, "Just… Hold on." He's so overwhelmed with feelings he's struggling. If the idiot says much of anything else, he might break. Never in a million years did John expect for the sociopath to love him. He simply thought it was impossible. Sherlock sits up and stares at the man with sad eyes. "You can't just kiss me, then go back to watching crap telly."

"What else was I supposed to do?" The confusion strikes the doctor as adorable and he wants to get his hands on him as soon as possible, the tears from earlier do not fall and instead they dry up and leave him smiling.

John sighs and then sits down next to him, "You're supposed to wait until I wake up enough to kiss you back."

Sherlock's face goes bright red, "Uh… Well."

Shifting so he's facing the side of the younger man's head, John carefully places his hand on the back of Sherlock's neck. The man does not stiffen like he'd expect, instead he melts and turns as well, "Let's get this right."

With shaking hands Sherlock reaches for John, "Okay."

John smiles encouragingly, "It's alright to be nervous and scared Sherlock. This is new for both of us."

Sherlock sighs and sets himself right, "You're right. There's nothing to be scared of if I'm with you."

The blonde man licks his lips before leaning forward ever so slightly, "As long as we're together."

"And Mrs. Hudson still takes care of us." Sherlock adds smiling.

A laugh escapes John as he leans closer still before whispering against his lips. "England would fall if she left Baker Street."

John can feel the smile as Sherlock laughs, "I said that, don't steal my words."

"I'm about to steal your breath." A smug expression is caught on John's lips as he leans forward and seals them to Sherlock's. His arms wrap around Sherlock's shoulders and pulls his torso closer. The goal is to be as close as possible, and Sherlock kisses back shyly. It's a lazy first kiss, filled with love and longing. Two hearts finally sigh and John thinks to himself that sleeping won't be a problem anyone.

Wiry arms wrap around John's ribs as Sherlock pulls him closer and with lack of oxygen they finally they part. "I can't promise this will be easy."

John smiles and rubs their noses together, "Where would the Holmes and Watson team be if everything was easy. Easy is not fun. I think this new case for you, could be the ten you've been waiting for."

Sherlock laughs and leans his forehead against John's, "Good because the case of you not sleeping was barely a two."

John glares and pecks his lips, "Then let's go to bed and see what's in store for tomorrow."

Sherlock agrees and together they walk to Sherlock's room. With John on the right side and the detective to his left. They strip off pajamas and prefer the skin to skin contact. Sherlock is examining the old scar on John's shoulder. "Interesting."

He's staring at the faded pink white scar, "It's just a scar now Sherlock. Yours isn't any different."

John turns so he can look at Sherlock's fading scar, it was pink and on the verge of being white. "Mine's not on the shoulder."

All John can do is roll his eyes. "I'm going to sleep then, have fun playing with my shoulder."

It's not but a moment later that Sherlock lays down beside him, his palm laying gently over the wound. John feels a certain giddy and peaceful feeling wash over him at the action. The detective is practically saying, nothing like this will ever happen again, as long as I'm around. John shifts he can grab Sherlock and pull him closer. This feels right, this is what he's been missing. Sleep finds him easily and peacefully, the nightmares leave him alone for this one night.

* * *

Mrs. Hudson wanders through the door in the morning. It's strange that she doesn't see

John around. Usually he's up by now, greeting her goodmorning. "Must have slept in." She goes back to her own apartment to cook the boys some breakfast, heaven knows she won't be cooking anything in their apartment besides tea, not with Sherlock and his little science dohickeys. The poor old woman couldn't stand to find to many bags of body parts in one week.

When she returned she decided to check on Sherlock, it was obvious he was sleeping. Which was good because she thought the boys might be arguing after she heard a commotion from upstairs last night. The door lightly squeaked when she opened the door but the gasp that startled the two sleeping figures was what woke them. "I knew it!"

John goes red in the face as he realizes the compromising position. Sherlock peaks over John's shoulder at Mrs. Hudson, "Must you scream this early in the morning?"

Sherlock's right side was very warm as he realized John had been spooning him moments ago, shielding his scar from the world. A wound that John's own wife had inflicted. "Oh I knew you were just being a shy sport John, really, I'm a little shocked that you two managed to hide it so long."

"Mrs. Hudson, please!" John blushes harder, "At least let us get dressed before we start this conversation."

She winks at the boys, "I'll just set the table for breakfast then."

Sherlock chuckles darkly, "I'm not gay, oh no I insist."

John glares and shakes his head, "Not gay. Let's go with Sherlocksexual at this point."

"Mrs. Hudson will not think so highly of your little- mmph."

The doctor smugly kisses the detective and silences him, "That is so much better than punch me in the face, don't you think? I think I've found a new way to shut you up."

Sherlock rolls his eyes before untangling himself from John, "I won't promise I won't bite you."

John shrugs and leans back in the bed, "I won't promise anything of the like either." Sherlock is getting on some form of clothing as John stands and smiles at him bravely, "To love you for an eternity."

Sherlock quickly looks away because his face is turning red, "Uh… Me too, love you, anyways, I can't uh… I'm not exactly the easiest person to…"

John borrows his bath robe and starts for the door, "It's okay Sherlock, this has been a long time coming. I won't give up anytime soon."

"Thank you." Sherlock whispers as John's hand is on the doorknob.

"You stopped being dead for me." He smiles and winks, "I'll follow you anywhere Sherlock Holmes." With that being said, the older man strides out of the room and returns to his own room for clothes. John hasn't had a single sleepless night since. All it takes is for him to roll over and hug Sherlock a little closer and realize that as long as they have each other, everything will always be alright. Sleeping is no longer a challenge as long as he doesn't have to face it alone.

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 **And that concludes this one shot. I tried to write Sherlock so he was more uncomfortable with affection, that's how I would think he would handle it. Anyways, please leave a fav, follow, and review if you enjoyed, they're always welcome and super appreciated! Thank you! :)**


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